Quicksilver Soul

by Christine d'Abo

  The Administrator stopped in the middle of the road, forcing Emmet to come beside him. “Why me?” It was a reasonable question, even if it was the last thing he should be asking. One didn’t push the Administrators, lest they find themselves “handled.”

  “You haven’t undergone an extraction. Most of your peers have performed at least one, but you’ve found every opportunity to avoid your initiation. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that you pushed your way through the front door, only to drag your feet.” He turned his head only enough for Emmet to catch a glimpse of the disdain in his eyes. “Quite frankly, Dennison, at this point you’re expendable. If someone is to die while protecting Tesla, we’d prefer it be you.”

  Emmet had been called many things over the years—boorish, prideful, secretive—though never once had he been considered nonessential. “I see.”

  “Keep her safe. See to it that she accomplishes her goal and gets back on the airship for Canada. Prove yourself.”

  Emmet stood rooted as the Administrator walked in the opposite direction of the Archives and disappeared into the darkness.

  Expendable.

  “Fucking little fool! You have no idea what the world is like beyond my protection.”

  “Then let me find out for myself. I need this, father.”

  No, that simply wasn’t acceptable. He wasn’t some by-blow to be used, cast aside, and then ignored. If they wanted him to play nursemaid to some slip of a woman while she puttered about her contraptions, then by God that’s what he’d do. And once she was safely on her way to Canada, Emmet would have a rather pointed conversation with the Guild Masters. If the Administrators believed he was of no use to the guild, then it was more than likely others thought so as well. He’d prove himself, even if that meant taking an extraction assignment and tearing his mind to shreds.

  Pulling back his shoulders and lowering his chin, Emmet continued home.

  The large building that contained the Archives was one of the most foreboding structures of New London. The large gray stones rose high into the sky, leading to copper turrets topped by steeples. One of the earlier architects had the foresight to attach metal rods to the peaks, running cables down into the depths of the building. Piper and Samuel had once tried to discover where those cables had gone, to see if they could harness their power. They’d begged Emmet to come along, but he’d still been more than a little prideful and standoffish at that point. It had turned into one of Sam and Pip’s many childhood adventures, a plan that never quite came to fruition, but that they’d enjoyed nonetheless. Emmet stood on the outside and watched.

  He’d never admit it aloud, but he missed having Piper around. Once she’d healed from Jack’s attack, she’d declined to be reinstated as an archivist and had accepted a position with Samuel at the King’s Sentry. Now they worked side by side and had recently been married.

  His friend Jones performed his first extraction sooner than originally scheduled. He had been called to withdraw the memories of the king’s second cousin. The experience had left him shaken so badly Emmet knew he’d been correct to put off his own initial extraction as long as possible. When Emmet tried to engage Jones after he’d been released by the doctors, his friend simply shook his head, leaving Emmet standing alone in the corridor.

  The winds whipped around him as he made the lonely approach up the steep staircase to the main Archives entrance. He had no reason to feel anything but determination in regard to his current predicament. He’d chosen this life over countless other options, roles that would have provided him with wealth and status, even as he blended in with the rest of the younger sons in society. So why the hell did Emmet feel as though his life was slipping away from him?

  The foyer of the Archives was unsurprisingly empty. Opening his coat and removing his topper, he strode to the lift that would take him to the residential level. His rooms had always been bigger than what the other archivists had been allotted. There had to be some advantages to his standing, and Emmet had always felt a great deal of comfort there. Tonight he’d seek out his solitude, consider the Administrator’s assignment, and decided how best to proceed. A plan would be necessary to ensure all would go the way he wished.

  “Mr. Dennison, sir!”

  Emmet turned to see one of the apprentices—Reggie, Regan, Ryan… something—running full speed toward him.

  “Slow down!” The boy skidded to a stop several feet away, his eyes growing wide. “The Archives is no place for a foot race.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir. But Master Tolan sent me to get you as quickly as possible.”

  Tolan was one of the elder Guild Masters, the person in charge of the Archives vault and by extension the central machine. Emmet had always considered him more than a little mad, though that was to be expected seeing as the man rarely saw the light of day. If Tolan was after him, then it was likely there was a true issue.

  “What’s the problem then? Spit it out, boy.”

  The lad blinked at him, shuffling from foot to foot. “Umm, I wasn’t quite sure what Master Tolan said, but it had to do with that woman.”

  The emphasis was no doubt Tolan’s and not the boy’s. “Someone meddling with his gears?”

  “She took off a panel and disappeared into the works.” It was said with a certain degree of awe. “Master Tolan said you were supposed to keep her in line and that I was to fetch you as soon as I could.”

  No doubt the Guild Master threatened the lad with vault cleaning duty if he didn’t perform the task as quickly as possible. Having been on the receiving end of that particular punishment several times over the course of his apprenticeship, Emmet could appreciate the boy’s haste.

  Still…

  “Master Tolan said I was responsible for her?”

  The boy nodded twice so hard, Emmet feared for his head. “Yes, sir. He said that’s what the… what they…”

  “Who?”

  “The Administrators told him.” The words came out in a rushed whisper. The boy looked around as though simply saying their names would cause them to appear. Perhaps he was a smarter lad than Emmet first thought. So, it was to be known that he was watching the girl, but not of the need to protect her. Fine. A game he could well play.

  “Thank you, Ryan.”

  “It’s Roland, sir. I’ll run ahead and let him know you’re on the way.” Without another word, he spun and bolted down the hallway.

  So much for coming up with a plan.

  Shoving his gloves into his pocket and tucking his topper beneath his arm, Emmet stepped into the lift and pressed the down button rather than the up. Roland would no doubt take the not-so-secret passageways that led to the basement. Most apprentices enjoyed traveling that way, testing their knowledge of the building from the maps they’d read. Even Emmet couldn’t resist them when he’d been younger. Yet as time marched on he’d joined the ranks of the adults and now chose the more traditional routes.

  The journey to the bowels of the Archives didn’t take long. Certainly not long enough for him to work out what the hell was going on. It felt like he’d been in a state of flux since Piper and Samuel had left him behind. Jones had been no help, too busy dealing with his own concerns.

  The vault was closed, but the sounds of chaos slipped out into the hall. This wasn’t what Emmet needed tonight. No, a nice drink of scotch and a cigar would have gone a long way to setting things right. Pushing the doors open revealed Master Tolan standing at the far end of the cavernous room, basted in the glow of the red light from the memory vaults, shouting into a giant hole in the wall. As Emmet got closer, he was able to see that several panels in the wall had been removed and placed on the floor.

  “I demand you come out here at once!” Master Tolan stood in front of the opening, arms crossed. “Do you hear me, young woman?”

  “I heard you have a pest problem, Elder.” Emmet leaned against the side of the wall, ignoring the older man for the time being. “And I’ve been informed it’s my duty to assist, whether I wish it to be or
not.”

  “That woman has been nothing but a thorn in my side since her arrival.” Emmet looked back at the Guild Master and tried not to laugh at the expression of absolute disgust on his face. “She’s poked at and criticized every inch of my vaults since her arrival this morning, as though she knows more about this place than I do. I’ve devoted my life to ensuring everything works perfectly.”

  “I’m sure she meant no disrespect. You know what these Company people are like. Arrogant.”

  “That’s saying something, coming from you.”

  Emmet cocked an eyebrow at Tolan. “I could always leave you to the task, Master.”

  Master Tolan waved in the direction of the hole. “Go fetch her, Dennison. I want her out of my house.”

  The dark passage was lined with pipes, conduits, and copper wires. They disappeared into the shadows, making it nearly impossible for Emmet to see where he was going, or what Miss Tesla was up to.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to send your apprentice in for the task?”

  “Roland is a stupid boy, terrified of his own shadow.” Master Tolan straightened and narrowed his pale gaze at him. “This is your assignment. Your responsibility. I will not allow you to fob it off on some idiot of a boy.”

  Shocked by the venom in the Guild Master’s voice, Emmet nodded. He wasn’t certain what had changed to damage Roland’s reputation within the guild, but he needed to find out. As soon as he dealt with their interloper. “Of course, sir. I’ll handle Miss Tesla and ensure she causes as few problems as possible with the Archives, least of all to your machine.”

  “Good.” Without saying another word, Master Tolan turned and marched away, leaving him standing alone in front of a hole in the wall.

  “Fine mess you’ve made for yourself, Emmet,” he muttered.

  Grabbing one of the headlamps the apprentices used while they were assigned to the deeper sections of the vaults, he slipped it in place and flicked the switch. A weak beam shone into the dark passage. Removing his overcoat and waistcoat, Emmet rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, hoping to protect as much of the fine fabric as possible.

  He dropped to his hands and knees and began the journey into the guts of the Archives. “Ready or not, Miss Tesla, here I come.”

  * * *

  Keegan picked up the copper casing and held it in his hands. The metal was tarnished and pitted, and deep scratches lined the top. It was easy to see why a clockwerker would have discarded this particular piece. The work required to make it usable would have taken much too long.

  Not that it mattered to him. He had all the time in the world.

  This was the key to Mr. Edison’s entire plan. The heart that needed to beat in just the right way to ensure the successful completion of their mission. Although it was empty now, Keegan could envision how the gears would fit, how they’d slip into place so they could dance together. The ticking would be like beautiful music, and he’d be the conductor.

  He prayed Mr. Edison liked it. His boss scared him in a way that Glyn never did. While the older boy would yell and hit any Underling who didn’t do as they were told, Keegan knew he wasn’t in any real danger. Mr. Edison though… there was something evil about his new boss. Not that it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Keegan would find a way to escape if need be.

  Tucking the casing into his pocket, he climbed out of the junk pile behind the clockwerker’s factory and checked to make sure the guards weren’t about to come by.

  “Psst!”

  Keegan snapped his head around, locking in on the source of the sound. A dirt-smeared face poked around from the side of an abandoned boiler across the way. It was Gerry, one of the Underlings boys.

  “Keegs, where’ve you been, eh? We was worried the zombies gotcha. Glyn’s been askin’ fer ya.”

  He couldn’t tell Gerry about the warehouse, Mr. Edison, or their plan. Keegan didn’t want to share his treats with the other boys. Nor did he want to risk anyone finding out what they were up to. If Glyn knew, he could ruin everything. It needed to be kept secret until they’d finished, at least. Then everyone would know. And it would be beautiful.

  “Keegs? Ya comin’?”

  Pulling his radiation goggles down across his eyes, Keegan turned his back on his friend and ran.

  Chapter Two

  Emmet was starting to believe Miss Tesla was part mole. He’d spent the better part of the past fifteen minutes picking his way through conduits and cables, his hands and knees pressed against the hard riveted floor, abusing his skin as he went. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to locate one woman in here. He’d spent a large portion of his life finding his way through the nooks and crannies of the Archives. She’d been here, what, a few hours?

  The temperature rose exponentially the farther he got into the works. The girth of the pipes grew, making the metal a dangerous companion in his search. Careful not to come too close to the exposed heated parts, Emmet turned sharp corners that lead down what appeared to be a service passage. With few other viable options available to him, he pressed on.

  “Miss Tesla?” Calling for her had proved to be damn near futile. She was either unable to hear him, or incapable of speech.

  Or perhaps she too had no respect for Emmet.

  Stopping God only knew how far deep into the Archives, Emmet closed his eyes and listened. She had to be here. He pushed past the whooshing sounds of steam being forced through the pipes above him. Ignoring the clicking and grinding noise of gears meandering about their business, he tried to hear anything that sounded out of place, off, a thorn in the side of the mighty Archives machine. Because it was becoming painfully clear to him that Miss Tesla was exactly that—a thorn intent on causing him grief.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  There she was.

  Before Emmet got three feet deeper into the machine the tapping stopped. Of course she’d take this moment to rest.

  “AHHHHHH!”

  Her scream echoed through the metal and filled the small space, setting his heart racing. Shit, she’s hurt. Without opening his eyes, he shifted his body position so he now faced the direction of the scream. Mentally, he recalled the basic map of the Archives that all acolytes were expected to memorize upon their arrival and added to it his own expanded knowledge of the building. Starting off again at a faster pace, he prayed he wouldn’t be too late to save Tesla from whatever evil had befallen her.

  “Miss Tesla!” Blasted woman. “I’m coming.”

  “Miss Tesla? Shit.” He sucked in a breath and lifted his knee from where he’d placed it carelessly on a metal seam that sliced into his trousers and flesh. “Goddammit.”

  “Swearing announces a small mind that lacks the imagination to use words creatively.”

  Emmet looked up to see a slip of a woman leaning back against an outtake pipe. Her chin-length brown hair was tucked behind her pixie-like ears, and her lips were turned up in a soft smirk. She looked as though she held a dozen flippant remarks back with the greatest of restraint.

  “You’re not hurt?”

  “Hurt?” Her full lips pulled into a frown. “Why ever would you think I was hurt?”

  “You screamed.”

  “Ah.” She shrugged. “A cry of frustration. You’re one of the apprentices? Bit old aren’t you?”

  The throbbing in his knee increased. “I’m not an apprentice. I was asked by Master Tolan to fetch you.”

  Emmet sat back on his bottom, hoping to examine the damage to his leg. For his trouble, he smashed the back of his head against a pipe behind him hard enough to set his teeth rattling.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “At least your vernacular is consistent.” Her voice was heavily accented, sounding more gypsy than the Canadian he’d assumed she’d been. “And far more interesting than that Guild Master.”

  “Master Tolan is not one of our more practiced conversationalists. I’m Mr. Dennison.”

  “Yes.” Though what she was agreeing to, he wasn’t certain. She let her ga
ze slip to his abused knee. “You are bleeding, Mr. Dennison. I would offer to assist you in your time of need, but I fear I am less adept at dealing with the human body than I am with machines.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and tossed it his way before turning around and continuing to work on the open panel.

  He checked to ensure that the handkerchief was clean, noticing a small NT monogram in the corner, before he pressed it to the freely bleeding wound. He’d need to stop by the medical bay, one of his least favorite places, if the blood didn’t stem soon. “May I ask what you are doing in here, miss? I was under the impression you were to help with repairs to the ventilation fans. The last time I checked, the fans were embedded in the ceiling.”

  “Yes, they are. And that’s what I’m doing. The root cause of the problem is often hidden from plain sight. Fixing it requires persistence and imagination.” She poked her head back around the corner to wink at him, her gaze shifting to his knee again before she turned back to her work. “I had to go digging.”

  “I would think a woman such as yourself wouldn’t be subjected to working in these cramped and filthy conditions.” Truth be told, Emmet was ready to grab her by the shoulders and pull her out to the wide open space of the vault. It was growing increasingly difficult for him to breathe as the pounding in the back of his skull started to increase.

  “I find your comment quite amusing as you’ve only just met me and don’t know what type of woman I am in the least.” She threw him a look over her shoulder. “Curious, but an unsurprising reaction given the type of man you are.”

  “What, an archivist?”

  “No, upper-class. Your type thrives on categories. You enjoy shoving the rest of us into neatly secured boxes that reflect who we should be and what we should do.”